“This guy. This guy was telling me the essentials of a story fifteen minutes ago?” Bree points at him in frustration.
“I didn’t promise a weird story, now did I?” Elliot counters.
Bree sputters.
“But it is an interesting story that deserves the basics of storytelling,” Sloan argues.
Bree points at Sloan. “That.”
Elliot swirls some more spaghetti onto his fork. “And how would you know that?”
I eat my burger, enjoying the show, my embarrassing moment forgotten. I think I’d rather haul Elliot everywhere with me if only I weren’t constantly putting myself in front of dangerous werewolves.
Chapter Seven
Love You Like a Love Song and Lousy Interrogations
Elliot
I pace my office as Sam's gaze follows me back and forth. “Why can’t you just hack into his computer or even car and find out Raymond’s location like you’ve done a thousand times before?”
“While I’d love to hack his car and blast Selena Gomez on the radio, I don’t think it’ll help us. Might make us feel good though. You know what, I’m getting into the idea now. Let’s just do it.” He takes his phone out of his pocket. To do a bit? To actually hack a random man’s car? Who knew with him?
“You know what I meant.” I fix Sam with an annoyed look. I nip it in the bud before we get sidetracked again. Besides, Adrian will be here in a few minutes. That’s not even enough time to mess with someone’s radio.
Sam sighs and places his phone on the table. “It’s not as easy this time, okay? I lost track of Raymond after he moved from Boston. There’s no trace of him. He might be dead. This is the only thread I’ve found in years.”
I blow out a breath, continuing my pacing. “Yeah, okay.”
Sam gets to his feet and steps in front of me, bringing me to a halt. “If he’s alive, I’ll find him, okay?”
He fixes me with his most sincere look. He’s been looking better since that day in my kitchen. Maybe it was just the longand slightly unbelievable journey. “Okay.” I nod.
He flops back down on the chair. “Besides, how difficult can it be to make a man talk? They allloveto talk about themselves.”
***
Twenty minutes later, Sam must be eating his words in my exam room, where he’s listening to our conversation. Adrian came blazing in, radiating a firm, badass lawyer energy. The guy manages contracts. Why does he need to wear a suit and tie like he has a court hearing in an hour? He opened his laptop and immediately got to business.
He carries himself with such relentless purpose that anything unrelated to work feels like an interruption. The wall of professionalism has swiftly blocked any attempt to deviate from the topic.
“So, you’ll need permits, liability waivers, and vendor agreements. I’ll look into the insurance requirements too and see if we’ll need to do something there.” He types more words on his laptop. “Can you get me the names of the rescue centers participating in the program? I’ll coordinate with them, so I won’t have to go through you for everything.”
No, Adrian, I can’t because Iwantyou to go through me. “Sure.” I nod. “I’ll send the list as soon as I’ve finalized it.”
Sam has let me conduct the first meeting myself because I was adamant I could handle the interrogation. I didn’t want him to meet the guy until I knew for sure he wasn’t dangerous. Whether he turned out like his father is still up for debate. What isn't? Adrian Sinclair doesn't know me. Or he deserves an Oscar for how convincingly he plays indifferent, bordering on hostile.
I don’t know what I was expecting to happen when I met the son of the man who destroyed my life and didn’t have the courtesy to watch it burn into ashes. But it definitely wasn’t this pity with a dash of uncertainty.
The cocky and aggressively professional guy sitting infront of me was raised by a gruesome, heartless killer. Unlike me, he didn’t even have anywhere to flee. Because if the monster’s at your home, where do you even run?
He’s still typing something on his expensive laptop. I give my interrogation another try. “Did you grow up here?”
He doesn’t bother to look at me and continues typing away. “Boston. Have you finalized the sponsors yet? I can have the sponsorship agreements ready by tomorrow.”
He’s not giving me any break. A few more minutes and I’ll have to physically crack his head open to see what’s in there. “I have the list of sponsors ready. I’ll send it to you. So, were your parents lawyers too?”
He doesn’t look up from his laptop. “Mother’s a teacher. Father left when I was a kid.” His gaze moves to mine. “Listen, I don’t think we need to get into my personal life. We don’t really get to know each other for this to work.”
